


Love As Momentum

by wildewriter99



Category: LISA (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, I don't really know - Freeform, It's not really a standard poem, it's kind of a monologue / prose-ish thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:25:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9807158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildewriter99/pseuds/wildewriter99
Summary: Brad and Buddy are simple, selfish people falling in and out of love.





	

You told me the world is made of hate, and I believed you.

14 years ago, you carved out a crevice on the edge of the horizon and raised me to understand nothingness.

But on the nights you dragged yourself into high tide, you told me with red eyes and loose lips that you could taste milkshakes on the roof of your mouth, the daisies always bloom on March 23rd, and the sunset is mesmerizing. 

The next morning when I asked you about these things, you told me they aren’t worth it.

Instead, you taught me how to walk, how to fight, so if we ever got separated I would be okay.

My pulse tells me I’m okay.

I’m outside and I’ve seen sunsets but only out of the corners of my eyes. I don’t even know what milkshakes are made of.

You returned to me as a tsunami, ramming through three countries and an ocean just to see me walk away.

I know how hard you fought for me, but how can I watch the daisies grow when the ground is covered in blood and armor?

I’m too old to forgive you but too young to forget our long walks together, little bird wrists in elephant fingers, while you sewed your tears into a perfect afternoon.

Many days pass and they all feel the same.

Men toss names at me like loose change, mealworms climbing over each other. They have titles. I have a piercing desire to be the bull in their china shop, so someday these names will lose their meaning, and someday their stares will drift to their feet and my intestines won’t twist into knots when I’m alone and there’s eight of them. Someday the blisters on my feet will heal because I won’t have to sleep standing up anymore.

There’s a book I read once that said every step we take is a free fall but we catch ourselves as our feet hit the ground. Gravity makes everything fall and motion is endless unless another force is there to stop it.

So I keep walking. I walk until I can control their breathing with a hand so precise they’ll call me God. I plough through countries and oceans because daisies and milkshakes are pretty things that I am too sweaty and blood-coated for.

Sunset comes, and the jackal kicks my legs out from under me. The laughter peeling off his rotten teeth reminds me to keep moving, or else somebody’s gonna own me. So I slash and stab and tear until silence surrounds me like a blanket.

I bend over his corpse and ask it if I’m selfish.

I think of you.

That makes two of us. 

I’ve traveled so far but you always come back to me, when the sky is pink and sweet and tears are falling on my sword. You told me the world is made of hate but now I know you’re wrong, as you’re standing on the horizon between my head and my heart, reaching out to hold me, I see my gravity is anchored to yours. This world is made of momentum and it propels me.

Dad, I love you like the absence of falling. You raised me so I’ll never stop walking.

But I have to finished what I started.

I have to walk away.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this way back in September 2015 and made some small edits to it recently. It is actually a previous incarnation of Comparisons, which I published in October 2015. After digging this up again, I found myself shocked that I hadn’t published it. Mechanically it’s very different from Comparisons but it evokes some of the same themes. What's different about it is it’s written in the 1st person, it’s far less abstract, and it takes Rando out of the equation and instead shows a clear progression of Buddy’s growth as a person through different points in her life. I wouldn’t say Comparisons is a bad piece, but it’s a simpler piece. A less remarkable piece imo. Comparisons is more concerned with style and 'making a statement somehow' while this one is concerned with telling an actual story. Instead of constructing a collage of different images, this piece is a photo album. It’s a photo album of complimentary and contrasting images, and it’s up to the reader to see which images will stick with them… It’s funny how the most honest art comes from un censoring yourself, from trying not to make a Very Important Piece and just going with the flow of words.


End file.
